"You mustn't mind its being nasty," he said. "Where's a spoon?"
He looked round for one, but the skipper took the powder from his hand, and licked it from the paper as though it had been sherbet.
"For mercy's sake don't say it's cholera," he gasped.
"I won't say anything," said the doctor. "Where did you say the money was?"
The skipper pointed to his trousers, and Mr. Mackenzie, his national spirit rising in hot rage, took out the agreed amount and handed it to the physician.
"Am I in danger?" said the skipper.
"There's always danger," said the doctor, in his best bedside manner. "Have you made your will?"
The other, turning pale, shook his head. "Perhaps you'd like to see a solicitor?" said Carson, in winning tones.
"I'm not bad enough for that," said the skipper, stoutly.
"You must stay here and nurse the skipper, Mr. Mackenzie," said Carson, turning to the mate; "and be good enough not to make that snuffling noise; it's worrying to an invalid."